Dancer
by Simply Not Quite
Summary: He was a prince. She was a slave. She would love him for ruining her.


Disclaimer: I only own figments of my own fantasy.

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As she stepped out of the tent, she noticed that the flames from the burning bonfire were flickering high, offering both light and respite from the chill of the desert night. Ignoring the eyes of the soldiers on her, she placed her feet precisely in front of each other and made her way over.

_His eyes were dark. Hard steel sheathed in mist._

She stopped a mere step from the bonfire, fully aware that she now commanded everyone's attention. But that's why she had been taken along for. The days of border patrols were long and monotonous so she was there to offer entertainment for the young heir accompanying this patrol. Rising to her tiptoes she rolled her hips in a grating movement she had been taught to ever since she was a child.

_He was stoic and cold, yet there was so much passion in everything he did._

He was watching her as well. His face was stony and unmoving, suitable for a prince. Yet she did not dare to peek towards his eyes, for she feared she would burn to ashes were she to meet his gaze straight on. Instead she shook her arms to make the simple bronze bracelets chime against each other as she drew further attention to the length and slenderness of her limbs.

_What retained him from taking it all?_

She wondered why he had come. There was no need for royalty – even less the heir to the throne - to attend such mundane patrolling tasks, yet here he was, even though the entire empire would bow and do his bidding. But it was not her place to question, so she breathed in deeply and arched her back.

_Fire craving for fuel to feed upon, yet purposefully starving itself._

She had been taught to dance since she was but a mere child. It was so easy to spread her arms and sway. Enchantingly. Slowly like the seaweed on a quiet day. Languidly to let male eyes follow each tiny movement her rotating hips made. So subtle and simple, unlike the sharp and controlled movements of a warrior. Her dance was predictable, but he was a warrior and no one could ever follow his movements.

_He wasn't _tame.

The pins had been placed into her hair with calculated precision. Pulling out just two of them made all the rest slip out leaving her long hair tumbling down her back in uncontrollable waves. It was so easy to capture a man's attention sometimes. The generals, emperors, high priests, soldiers, guards, beggars – all could be distract by a simple sway of hips and shoulders. Would he be just easily deceived?

_It__ didn't need to make sense._

She trailed her hands up over her stomach, the fingertips barely grazing the skin. Just light enough for her to sense her fingers would be touching her if she moved them but a fraction… yet not tickling her skin. Men did allow themselves to be distracted easily – any harem girl could prove that with cold indifference belying most of their young ages – yet, she sometimes wondered why dancers were so popular, if the movements were so distracting. Was it a distraction you yearned for to escape the mundane life? Just like she yearned to catch his eyes?

_What no one knew…_

It was one of the mysteries she would never understand, she supposed. She would never get to ask anyone and no one would ever come to tell it to her. She used fast twists of her hips as she slipped the pins under the edge of her sheer crimson bra to stretch it tighter around her chest. Breasts always caught a men's fancy. An old woman in the harem had once told her that it was so due to simple envy – where women had been blessed by two, men had only one.

_Foolish chivalry in a world that condemns anything moral._

Yet she was a fool. She was a dancer in a harem with hundreds of other girls and she would never be extraordinary in any way. No matter what she did, she would always be insignificant. So why did she dream of questions and answers and quests, when the world wouldn't even notice if she went missing? Why did she try to glorify who she really was – an orphan girl who had been raised as a harem-dancer for her lithe build? A dancer whose only purpose was to entertain her betters in any way they wished.

_Bittersweet tenderness with a backlash of violent vociferation._

But it was so hard to stop dreaming. Of that one moment when he would look at her and really notice her. Her and not another faceless body. Catching her hair in her hands, she raised it to show the length and graceful arch of her neck. Her pulse was drumming so close to the tender skin. He might kill her, but he would notice her in doing so.

_Darkness and hate and vengeance and fury and anger and scorn and fear and ruin._

He wasn't a good man. She had heard whispers of how he laughed while taking another man's life for a minor offence and then he had allowed his guards to have their way with the other man's women – wives and sisters and daughters. He was cruel and cunning and mean. But her life had never included anything but stale bread and water, the only flavour coming from her own bitter tears. She would not fear his cruelty, for she had glimpsed beauty and kindness only from afar.

_But also honour and loyalty and delight and love. _

Serving your prince – your future ruler – could only be an honour. You could do something for the man who led you all. He cared for all of them, for he was the emperor. He was loved even by the gods, so how could humans feel anything but the purest delight when they so much as heard his name. Reaching out her leg, she lowered herself to a knee to show the length of her limbs and hoping for it to be appreciated.

_Her secret feelings multiplied by thousands._

She didn't just love him. She admired him, worshipped him, feared for him, rejoiced for him. Everything she did and felt and thought was for him. She rolled her hips to show the full extent as to what she could offer as she stretched out her other leg.

_He rejoiced at her pain and laughed__ as she bled._

It was his duty to lead and the privilege of the people to obey. Who could grudge him for enjoying the proof that his people loved him, that his people wouldn't hesitate to shed their blood for him. She rose to her feet, taking the most minuscule steps on the spot as her body swayed and arched.

_It would not be right in any other way._

He demanded a lot and didn't waste time decorating his wants with purple prose. That would have been foolish. He was the prince; he had the right to demand. She twirled, making her dark hair and sheer red scarves of her outfit fly around her as if she was a magical dervish.

_To fear him, to love him, to savour everything about him._

She feared. She feared she would not look pleasing enough to his eyes. She loved. She loved that he sat there chewing on a piece of dried meat and watching her with steady eyes. She savoured. She savoured the moment where she could truly do something, that she could capture the essence of time and provide it to him for the duration of her dance. Her lips parted as she gasped for air.

_He would kill her before she even knew she was alive._

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips nervously. He truly was the centre. What the sun was to all the plants, he was to her. Gasping, she could almost feel the heat from him burning her to ashes as her body twisted and her hips rolled to a beat she could hear only in her head.

_No one else would be as lenient an executioner._

He would never care for her. He could never care for her. But he would not hold it against her that she wasn't good enough for him. He would be generous in his dismissal. She fell to her knees for the climax of the dance.

_He will leave her broken and she will love him for it._

He was a prince. She was a slave. He was an emperor. She was a harem dancer. He would break her body and soul and mind and spirit and never even know who she was. And she would love him for ruining her.


End file.
